


Fisticuffs

by Bishmonster



Series: The thin line: A Harry Potter fix it [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Harry, Abused Harry Potter, Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Angry Draco Malfoy, Angst, Blood, Blood Quills (Harry Potter), Blood and Injury, Dolores Umbridge is Her Own Warning, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Fluff, Good Draco Malfoy, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Hurt Harry Potter, Hurt/Comfort, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, No pairings yet - Freeform, Priori Incantatem, Series, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Snape finds out, Tags May Change, Violence, Wandless Magic (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28255767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bishmonster/pseuds/Bishmonster
Summary: "The pain, this pain, was familiar. In the way that Harry knew exactly what to expect. Exactly how to absorb and move through it to function with the rattle and rage in his brain. A blow to the face was consuming unless one knew how to respond to it. This pain, Harry knew how to take."This is a growing work of fiction.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy & Severus Snape, Narcissa Black Malfoy & Harry Potter
Series: The thin line: A Harry Potter fix it [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086680
Comments: 38
Kudos: 331





	1. Fist fight

**Author's Note:**

> My first Harry Potter fanfic. Fingers crossed I don't muck it up. Hope you all enjoy

Draco Malfoy’s fist brought a bright burst of blinding pain, cracking against Harry’s eye socket like a meticulously crafted iron hammer. The brightness trans-morphed into a slow pour of paint over a curved surface, only there was no art, just a dull throb of force spreading over Harry’s skull. Harry’s head snapped back like a rusty bobble head making his body move against his volition, stumbling backward several steps in the snow.

This was nothing like the burst of energy from a furiously loud _stupefy_. The punch was more akin to the unleashed temper fueled blows from Uncle Vernon’s heavy back hand.

A blind man would have seen Malfoy’s telegraphed intentions. The notorious blonde was the least Slytherin at times like these when his frustration boiled just beneath the pale skin. His devious nature fled, and Harry could see his unspoken, unrestrained truths leading to questions about the validity of the Sorting Hat’s power.

Did the magical object have the authority to place undeveloped, pliable minds into categories, cementing their future selves’ labels and loyalties. A question for another time.

Yes, Harry had seen the blow coming long before Malfoy’s fist connected to flesh. He should have ducked. And he would have, only, Harry wanted the _satisfaction_ of Malfoy making the first strike, opening the opportunity for Harry to strike back without the repercussions of starting a fight.

The pain, this pain, was familiar. In the way that Harry knew exactly what to expect. Exactly how to absorb and move through it to function with the rattle and rage in his brain. A blow to the face was consuming unless one knew how to respond to it. This pain, Harry knew how to take.

The niceness and adoration, the expectations for greatness left Harry with a creeping coldness. His power useless. Even at 15, Harry knew the wizarding world’s presumptions of the boy-who-lives’ abilities were unrealistic at best. Harry constantly felt like a seal trying to chase a penguin on the beach. Hungry and inept. Essentially… out of his depth. It built a reservoir of anger and resentment.

Warmth bloomed across his face. Harry realized Draco Malfoy’s hands only looked slim fingered and delicate. He now knew they held a surprising amount of strength, the boney knuckles slamming again into Harry’s face with a resounding crack reverberating on the frozen stone. A boxer’s symphony.

Still, Harry should have ducked out of the punch. Or thrown his own after. Malfoy had done some damage, helped along by Harry’s willingness to take it. Unfortunately, Draco had unleashed a bevy of more blows, this time landing Harry on his back, the snow a buffer between the unrelenting stone of the castle grounds with Malfoy’s lanky height as heavy as a boulder, rounded fists pummeling Harry’s torso with mean jabs meant to incapacitate despite the lack of leverage. `

Again, in his pain addled brain, Harry made the comparison to his childhood with Dudley’s favorite game of Harry Hunting ending in much the same position. The difference, Dudley had not known how to fight, relying on his weight and girth to subdue and humiliate the smaller boy.

Draco, well… Draco knew how to fight. Harry was unable to do much other than try to protect his ribs as much as possible.

*Defend yourself* Harry’s inner monologue demanded. *It would be self-defense!*

Harry knew it for the lie it was. Wandless magic was too unstable, too volatile for Harry to rationalize using against his school mate, enemy though Draco may be, Harry would not use a power he barely knew to control against the other boy.

*You know how* his inner monologued argued.

Only he did not know how to control it. And he would not, because as much as Malfoy’s fist hurt, the thud thudding bloom of pain knocking each breath from Harry, he knew using the magic would break the unspoken gentleman’s agreement. He and Draco were in a fist fight, where magic was sidelined.

*This is not a fight to the death* Harry determined, subsequently blacking out.


	2. Round One goes to...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape interferes

Severus Snape rounded the corner just before the entrance to the main courtyard. He could see the fresh blanket of snow coating the ground in peaks and valleys. This was no calm snow fall. The wind was bitter with a seeping cold chasing even the hardiest indoors. The whole school was quiet and deserted by the student body. Those old enough had braved the weather fled to Hogsmead and the rest crowded the common areas.

Snape was content to avoid said common areas as much as possible for the entirety of the weekend. He just hoped no one burnt the castle to the ground while not under his watchful eye. Severus had a free weekend in which he could catch up on his brewing. The Weasley Twins, to Snape’s surprise, had presented him with a challenge at the start of term. If he helped refine their own creations of pranks with the understanding they would never be used against Snape, the head of Slytherin would receive 10 percent of the profits and all supplies paid for. It was a fine arrangement even before the monetary compensation. An overly generous way to start a business in Snape’s opinion. Not that he was going to protest. The extra secret side bonus? Watching Delores Umbridge’s slow descent into madness since her infiltration of Hogwarts.

Snape loathed Delores Umbridge. As did the student body. The dark, petty abyss in Severus’s belly jumped in joy contemplating his contributions to the shenanigans bestowed upon the Pink Toad.

Her oppressive regime was one of the reasons Snape had abandoned his lab. The day had started with a little visit from Umbridge, just a thinly veiled threat masquerading as a friendly reminder of his loyalties and Snape _needed_ air. Fresh air. Not the cool musky depths of the dungeon. The ministry’s influence at the school was only slightly less suffocating than the dark lord’s madness. And Snape was having _issues_ with separating the present from the past.

To top it off, Dumbledore (the meddlesome old fool), was not on the school grounds to play buffer between Severus and the rest of the population. So, when Snape entered the chilling courtyard for some solitude and respite, and instead, found the Malfoy heir and the Potter brat fighting like two heathen muggles, he was less than pleased.

Snape witnessed the verbal exchange come to an end. Noted Mr. Malfoy’s tense shoulders and the side of his austere face. Saw the fervently expressive face of the brat-who-lived. Snape could not hear what was said, only witness the fallout as Draco lost control of his posture, shedding the slim sheen of sophistication his parents were so prideful of, and punched the smaller dark headed arsehole with none of the cowardly or indecisive hesitation he had been exhibiting since first year. Potter stumbled back a millisecond before being tackled to the ground by a positively feral Slytherin.

Fisticuffs were not the wizard standard, brawling was downright unheard of, nevertheless, Snape took great satisfaction watching Malfoy unleash years of frustrations upon the bane of Snape’s existence. Living vicariously Snape supposed. Unfortunately, he could not let the beating of Harry Potter continue. As a professor it was his duty to take some form of action.

Dragging Draco off the unconscious Gryffindor was a fun new task. The Slytherin was of a size, removing the tall, whip lean body took real effort. Snape marveled when the bitter wind cooled the moisture gathering at his brow. Once separated, Draco did not fight. Instead, he dropped to his knees in the snow. Gray eyes never leaving the prone body of a bloodied Potter.

“Is he dead?” Draco asked with a lifeless calm voice.

“I’m afraid I’ve never had that amount of luck Mr. Malfoy.” Snape drawled with some relief spying the rise and fall of Potter’s chest. It seemed the boy just could not die though Snape doubted if that had been Draco’s intent. Snape continued to inspect the unresponsive teenager while Draco watched. “What incited this little… incident.” The professor queried as nonchalantly as possible. He was trying to hide his growing worry. Potter had yet to move or make a sound.

Draco shrugged, again as calm and unruffled as if he were drinking tea with his mother. Draco leveled a cool, impassive face to Snape. How like his father. “I will get an answer out of you Mr. Malfoy. Have no doubt.” Snape said. Draco assessed Snape with a raise blond brow.

“I will not be made a fool.” Draco said, explaining nothing.

“Wasn’t tryin…” groaned Potter nonsensically. Impossibly green eyes stared up at Snape with trepidation before darting to Draco. “I meant what I said.” Harry choked out scrambling to sit up. Snow clung to his robes like bits of frozen sand.

“Perhaps it would be best if you kept your thoughts to yourself.” Snape recommended. The calm after Draco’s storm was dissipating. Mr. Malfoy’s face contorted into rage once again. “Can you stand or would a mobilicorpus do?”

“Where?” Potter grunted still trying to sit up on his own. His face shown unnaturally pale. Snape suspected his ribs were injured.

“Madam Pom…,” Snape began to sneer only to be interrupted by a panicked if not assertive “No!”

Potter’s struggles became more pronounced until he gave up trying to stand, scooting away from the professor and his arch nemesis on his bottom through inches of fallen snow.

“A little late to run away isn’t it, Potter?” Snape jeered.

“I can take care of myself.” Harry argued. Futilely trying to escape and panting with the pain of effort.

“Always so arrogant.” Snape accused.

Draco made a face. There was no fury, no derisive sneer. 0nly surprise. A little “o” of the mouth, eyebrows disappearing into his disheveled bangs. His tense posture once again relaxing into something more curved. “You’re afraid.” Draco acknowledged. It was not an accusation nor was it a taunt. “You’re actually scared.”

Upon hearing these words, Snape was baffled. The veil of James Potter fell from the son’s face and there it was plain as day. Potter was not just scared, he was terrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some words have to be written even if they are never read.


	3. Detention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detention with Umbridge

This was bad. This was real bad.

Somehow, his impromptu confrontation with Malfoy had ended with Harry in more than a little amount of pain and bleeding. And now, well now, Snape was butting his problematic nose in. Snape’s loyalties were questionable at best and Harry had learned to ignore the instinctual lure the Potions Professor possessed. Half a decade had passed and still Harry sought the man’s approval. It was ridiculous.

“You require medical attention.” Snape lolled out as if Harry were as dumb as a troll. And yeah, maybe he was. Maybe he was the stupidest git that ever did stupid because he had thought for one moment all those years of petty squabbles and house rivalry meant nothing compared to an outstretched hand. An understanding. A truce of sorts with the possibilities of friendship.

Harry had not been the one standing in the middle of the courtyard, red faced and stone still against a gusty Scottish wind. Draco Malfoy had looked so angry and so very lost that for a moment, Harry forgot all the built-up animosity and approached the boy with all his Gryffindor courage.

 _What a stupid thing to do_ , Harry thought holding in a wince. First with his approach and then with his positively gleeful anticipation of an actual physical fight with Malfoy. “I’ve had much worse.” He said aloud to his professor in leu of an excuse. And he had. The Dursleys had trained him up well. Plus, the subsequent years of mishaps at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy might possess meanly accurate fists; this did not indicate that Harry did not know how to roll with the punches.

“Nothing is broken.” He said to Snape with an authority that spoke of his experience. And yes, it did hurt very much, enough to make his breath pant light mists of warmth in the winter wind. “I’m not scared, Malfoy.” He finally addressed the other boy. And, as much as he wanted to put animosity in his voice as per their usual exchange, this time he could not. Something had changed. Malfoy was not the sneering gloating prig he had been in years past. A new truth flowed both ways. Just as the Slytherin could see Harry’s fear, Harry could see Draco’s internal struggle. The more blank Draco could make his face, the harder he was _fighting_ with himself.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Draco retorted, only his voice held no heat.

“I’ve detention with Umbridge.” Harry announced, again, stupid. He had not meant to say that. Now Draco would think he feared the Pink Toad. “I don’t have time to go to the infirmary.”

Black eyes lasered onto Harry, freezing any movement he might have even thought to make. “You would prefer detention over medical attention. Are you really that stupid?”

“Yes.” Potter said much to everyone’s surprise. “Or,” he added before he could over think his statement, “Maybe I’m aware the consequences of missing detention with Umbridge might not be worth it.”

Snape did not change his posture, his focus, or his facial expressions but somehow the _vibrations_ emanating from the Potions professor changed. It was subtle and easily missed had Harry not been paying full attention. “Very well,” Snape said in that particular way of his. “after your detention you will come to my office.”

“For what?” Harry gasped out, rage slowly warming him up from the damp snow and biting wind.

“I would be remiss in my duties as a professor if you did not acquire some form of healing. I doubt you would be capable of preforming the required spells on your own.” Snape sneered beneath what vaguely resembled concern.

“Potter.” Draco started to speak. “I’m…” Harry watched the cool and poised Slytherin once again lose his veneer revealing a shamefaced teenager barely older than himself.

“Help me up will you, I can’t be late.” Harry said, effectively cutting off whatever the blonde was going to say.

&&&&&

Professor Umbridge was her usual delightful self when Harry arrived with barely a minute to spare. He was soaked to the bone, shaking with the cold and the pain as each step rattled his abused body. She eyed him with her beady little eyes and harrumphed in her high-pitched squeak that never failed to make Harry’s skin crawl. 

“Can’t have you dripping on the carpet dear.” She said brightly not bothering to ask why Harry was so disheveled and bleeding. “You may do your work in the classroom.” Which was only marginally better than sitting in the overly pink nauseating office.

Umbridge set up his parchment and special quill in the quiet yawning classroom. He took his seat and grit his teeth while her porcelain cup tinked against its matching saucer. She reminded him immensely of Aunt Petunia supervising his washing of the dishes.

“Hurry up dear one, a hundred lines should do on this fine afternoon.” She smiled at him with her tiny little teeth.

A blessing in disguise, Harry’s bruised ribs throbbed harder than the blood quill could carve, and the lines went quickly. Too quickly for the DADA professor’s satisfaction. She frowned as Harry practically flew through the lines on his parchment. His handwriting was atrociously shy of illegible what with the shaking and the throbbing and the blurred vision from his freshly blackened eye. Not to mention that Malfoy had chipped the lens in his glasses and Harry had not dared to utter the spell to repair it while Umbridge watched from her perch. Her pink attire was especially repugnant with the wool pattern completely unflattering on her petite from. Why did she insist on looking like a fluffy box? Another question for another time.

“Done already?”

“Yes, Professor.” Harry tried to keep any and all inflection out of his voice knowing she thrived on his responses. He was bound and determined not to give her one.

“I see.” She said, meticulously counting each line with a critical squint. “In a hurry Mr. Potter?” she asked with belied innocence.

“Not particularly.” He said, holding in the shrug and the wince and the faintness of his legs while he stood, clothing only slightly damp while the fresh blood tickled his fingertips. Still, he could barely feel the new carving of lines across the back of his hand. Harry suspected one of his ribs might be worse than originally thought. He felt like a creaky old couch hauled up onto its side ready to splinter at any moment.

“You may go.” She said darkly. Harry thanked her politely even though every burning inch of him wanted to throw her out of the classroom window into the building storm. _She is the absolute worst_ , Harry thought as he slowly made his way out of the classroom, down the many flights of stairs and finally to the dungeon where Snape waited.

Since they had not agreed upon a time to meet, with only the instructions for “after your detention”, Harry decided to sit down against the cold stone of the dungeon to catch his breath before dealing with Snape and whatever fresh hell awaited him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vibrations of perspective running through (threw, thrown, throne, thrice... ok that's enough for today) my head.


	4. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa Malfoy meets Harry Potter and Snape learns some truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not beta'd and i'm sure there are a multitude of run on sentences and an overabundance of the use of the word "brat". The thing is, I'm on a role and if I don't post and move on to the next one, I'm afraid I'll lose the thread. So please bare with me. Hope you enjoy! And Happy New Year!!!!!

“Draco, with me.” Snape said to the boy. The Malfoy Heir looked flabbergasted, a look Snape could not recall seeing in the entirety of the young man’s life, and had Snape not witnessed it himself, he would have never believed the Potter Brat’s behavior. It positively reeked of kindness. Something the brat’s father knew nothing about.

Malfoy had not protested or even questioned Potter when he had lifted the fallen boy out of the snow. Potter thanked him for the assist then ran haphazardly through the courtyard clutching his torso with determination all the while slipping on the frozen stone. The stupid little brat had not even bothered to wipe the snow from his retreating form or cast a drying spell. Snape wondered if he was going to have to deal with pneumonia on top of the boy’s other injuries. A matter to consider later.

Snape’s immediate concern was Mr. Malfoy. His godson lacked any of fire usually found sparking out of his gray eyes. “Shall I pack my trunk Professor?” The question was asked inside of the hallways of the castle where the roar of the wind was noticeably absent. Draco’s voice was quiet enough not to echo off the stone but resounding with its connotations.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Snape replied. Once again Draco’s posture faltered as if a heavy weight were lifted off his shoulders. “However, your parents will have to be notified.” Severus said. Draco’s shoulder resumed their stiffness; his posture reminiscent of the senior Malfoy. 

They walked the long corridors in silence, their steps echoing against the stone. Those who did not know, thought the dungeons were cold and damp and while they were not wrong about the damp, the air beneath the castle was warm from the carefully tended fires and the heavy tapestries draping the walls in history. There was also the body heat of fifty or so children, and certainly Slytherin children had better manners than the rest of the houses, this did not mean they had less energy. Sometimes, Severus found the dungeons to be quite stifling and loud. He could only be thankful he did not have to endure the roar of the Gryffindor monsters and was quite happy with his little snakes.

Snape led them to his office to fire call the Malfoy’s. Narcissa agreed to meet Severus in Hogsmead immediately, the closest place to floo in. She declined to indicate if Lucius would be joining her.

The anticipation was short lived. Severus left Draco in his office under orders to work on his studies and “not touch anything” while he took the short walk down to town. Narcissa had already arrive, alone, with a tense furtive look about her. Severus greeted her in his usual manner.

The two walked back to the castle with little conversation. Only two hours had passed since the incident, yet the storm had built exponentially and with it the biting cold was seeping through their charmed cloaks. Severus guided Narcissa through the wards then swiftly led her to the relative warmth of his office.

&&&&&

“Mr. Potter.” Snape sneered. The huddled unconscious mass of damp and dirty cloak outside of Severus’s office could be none other than the boy-who-continued-to-annoy. Narcissa made a noise in response. A sound of aborted surprised heavily mixed with dismay. She crouched down before the brat disregarding the awkward position.

“He looks sickly.” She announced in the ways only a mother could. It bore no argument. Snape concealed his surprise. Once he looked closely and _objectively_ , he too could see the unusual pallor. The heavy dark circles under long lashes and the gauntness to the cheeks. This was all beneath the blossoming bruises. Mr. Potter looked like he had lost a round with a dragon. And in a way, he had.

“Severus!” Narcissa exclaimed in the whisper hiss of a true Slytherin. “He is bleeding.” Indeed, there was a pool of blood beneath the boy’s lax hand resting on the cool stone. “Is this… from a blood quill?” Narcissa asked, outraged. “Severus, how could you?” she charged with accusation.

“I can assure you, Lady Malfoy, I know nothing of a blood quill on school grounds. As you know, they have been banned by the ministry.” But he had his suspicions who might possess one.

Lady Malfoy thinned her lips in determination and cast the spell to lift the boy. Severus opened the door to office. Draco looked over in surprise from his position at the window. He clearly had not been studying anything other than his own thoughts reflected on the snow outside.

“What has happened?” Draco voice rose from the normal low pitch drawl as Narcissa guided Potter’s still form to the unused settee in the back of his office. Severus had installed the ornate piece of furniture for those days when he had first started teaching and spent many sleepless nights making lesson plans. This was before his disillusionment of having students that _cared_ about potions melted away by reality. The students at Hogwarts preferred the less taxing Charms classes over the often times grueling work of potion making. Lazy wand waving miscreants.

“Professor Snape?” Draco addressed his questions. “I did not…”

“No.” Snape assured his godson.

“I must not tell lies.” Lady Malfoy read the mess of flesh seeping blood. She jerked her eyes away to her son. “Draco, fetch me a towel and hot water.” Narcissa demanded. Her tone suggested Draco move with urgency. The Malfoy heir may have a huge chip on his shoulder from living in his father’s shadow, but he obeyed his mother with nary a hesitation.

Snape spent his time retrieving a blood replenishing potion to combine with the others he had planned to administer to the br… er… boy. Severus set the haul down on his desk in reach of Lady Malfoy. She was examining Potter with diagnostic spells. Each wave of her wand more evicting a more distressing noise from her usually silent self.

“Snape, surely Draco did not do all this damage.” She whispered, gently removing the stained outer cloak, the ripped handmade and vaguely familiar sweater with the boy’s initials and the threadbare baggy gray undershirt. Potter’s torso looked like a terribly modern watercolor of bruises and abrasions. Snape was prepared to see the marks having witness the fervency of the blows Draco had inflicted. What the professor had not been prepared for were the prominent scars and protruding bones of a boy nearly starved. Cloaks hid many things from the eye and Severus had always prided himself on seeing things hidden. Clearly, he had failed when it came to one Gryffindor brat.

Bile rose in Snape’s tighten throat threatening to spew out of his mouth. How could he have not seen? It was so clear now. The small stature when neither parent had suffered form a deficiency of height. Lily had been tall and willow thin. A match for James Potter, who had towered over most of his peers. Their son was positively short compared, even the Granger girl had a few inches on her companion.

Draco returned interrupting Snape’s musing, which only bore home the point of Potter’s unnatural thinness. Draco, as tall and as lean as his patriarch still had the rounder face of a boy. While the unconscious orphan being tended to by his school nemesis’s mother had never possessed the rounded cheeks or softness of his contemporaries. The realization, the flood of noted discrepancies ignored beneath the fire of his hatred for the boy’s dead father sat heavy on Severus’s queasy stomach. 

“Why is he not in the infirmary?” Narcissa asked, tone incredulous.

“No!” the words were not shouted so much as they carried weight. Mr. Potter had awoken it seemed. His green eyes were like beacons in the dim office. Narcissa looked even more startled than before. She made a shushing noise while holding the suddenly struggling boy in place.

“You are unwell.” She pointed out. Snape would have used the same words to explain to Potter the severity of the situation, only his tone would reflect much differently.

“No infirmary.” The-boy-who-lived-to-aggrieve stated. “I’m fine.” He lied pointedly.

“That explains the phrase across the back of your hand, Potter.” Draco said without a smirk. The blonde stared the smaller boy down, clearly expecting a rebuttal. Potter snapped his mouth shut with a click and turned his attention to Lady Malfoy.

“No offense,” Potter said bluntly with a hint of politeness. “but could you please unhand me?”

Lady Malfoy smiled one of her rare smiles. “No young man.” She told him. “Infirmary or not you still require medical attention.”

“I’d rather you not.” He said plainly.

“Do you have a death wish?” Snape snapped. Both Lady Malfoy and the boy turned at the question. Snape ignored their stares. “We had an agreement Mr. Potter, you attend detention, I administer medical attention.”

“Yes,” Potter said pointedly looking at Lady Malfoy. "you."

“You allowed him to attend detention?” The woman in question asked.

“Allow is not the word I’d use.” Snape laughed with little mirth.

“Negotiated.” Draco supplied. “Potter negotiated his way to detention.

“I was fine.” Harry defended.

“Was being the operative word.” Snape explained. “You are no longer ‘fine’ Mr. Potter.”

The boy scowled. “I’ve had worse.”

“You’ve said that before.” Snape focused on the green of Potter’s eyes. “Exactly when have you endured ‘worse’? Was it the killing curse you are referring too? Your battle with the troll? The ill-advised trek on the third floor?”

“Having Voldemort’s essence blast through me was bad.” Potter agreed. “Not nearly as bad as the basilisk venom. Or the dementors.” Potter paused looking at exactly who his surrounded him. “Or being locked with Voldemort in the Priori Incantatem. Though I suppose that had more of an emotional toll than a physical one.” Potter mused. “Still,” he continued looking down in his lap. “Living with the Dursley’s is the worst.”

“Why is that?” Draco asked, scoffing at the very idea. “Your family adores you.”

Only Snape was beginning to suspect this was not the case. Snape remembered Petunia Dursley nee Evans quite well. Her hatred for magic left a lasting impression. “You were placed with Lily’s sister.” Severus said quietly; the newfound information screaming in his head.

“Yes.” Potter looked up to his professor before answering Draco. “and I can’t fight back at the Dursley’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end. I have already started the next part.

**Author's Note:**

> My sister called this poetic which made me laugh because i am way too "earthy" to be poetic. I live in crassness and vulgarity. 
> 
> Dear Santa,  
> I've been moderately good all year...  
> Comments and Kudoes for Christmas pleasssssse!!!!  
> Sincerely  
> Your little bishmonster


End file.
